Powers That Be
by BardTheChronicler
Summary: [AU][ON HOLD] A Fallen God risen. A world on the brink of war. It's the end times, so what can the peasant son of a potter do to save everything he holds dear? Just a little idea I had. Very much a WIP. Medieval/Classical, high fantasy setting.
1. Prologue

**Powers That Be**

**Prologue**

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A continuously shifting sea of reddish-yellow sand spread out as far as the heat-hazed horizon, with the seemingly countless sandy dunes only broken up by the occasional odd rock formation that would show itself for only the briefest of moments before it disappeared once more amidst the swirling sands as if it had never been there in the first place.

One might even think that they had simply imagined seeing it at all.

High overhead in the midst of a cloudless bright blue sky, the sun was reaching its zenith as its brilliant light bore down unrelentingly upon this ever-changing landscape where nothing grew, and the only thing that appeared to be alive was the very sand itself.

Were it not for the strong winds that flowed through this vast desert unimpeded, bringing with it some measure of relief from the murderous heat, the man reasoned he would have already succumbed to the scorching hot environment.

The lone figure brave enough, or many would say foolish enough, to journey into the uncharted sands had prepared for this trip for some time.

Every inch of him was covered with fabric heavy enough to protect him from the biting, windblown sand and yet light and breathable enough that he could bear the heat of the harsh desert sun. Even his face was thinly veiled over by cloth, obscuring his vision somewhat but protecting his eyes from any serious damage potentially wrought by the rough sands.

Sure, some of the finer particles still managed to get through and he could feel it collecting in some of the folds within his robes, but a few well-placed shakes and the sand fell down and out easily enough. The only issue so far was that the sand was constantly finding its way in, which meant he had to shake them loose every so often.

He held a hand up to his forehead to further shield his eyes from the sun and the sand while his other hand gripped the rope tied to the hefty bag slung over his shoulder. He stopped for a moment, the wind buffeting him as he widened his stance so as to more easily keep his balance.

There was still nothing of note within sight so he kept trudging through the sand.

Each one of his steps plunged his high boots into the sand and the deeper into the desert he walked, the more he could feel the sand slowly filling his boots. Four times already that day he had stopped to empty the reddish-yellow particles from his boots as much as he could before slipping them back on.

Five days.

That was how long he had been traveling through this inhospitable landscape. Five days and still no signs of what he was so desperately searching for. At this point, most people would probably turn back, content in the knowledge that they had tried and failed but would live to maybe try again. He did not have that luxury however, so he continued to press forward, going deeper than any reasonable person would dare.

Failure was not an option. After all, failure meant certain death, and he was if anything a survivor.

Cresting over a sand dune as the wind roared around him, he realized too late that this particular dune was eroding rapidly on the far side, and then the sand underneath him abruptly gave way. He stumbled and tried to catch his balance but he was already over the tipping point, his body falling over on its side as he tumbled and rolled down the suddenly steep slope of sand, riding a mini sand avalanche before coming to an abrupt and rather painful stop at the bottom of a valley between three dunes.

Already, the sand was beginning to cover him and he struggled to get to his feet and get moving lest he be engulfed by the changing sands and lost forever. The hand that held the rope to his bag was still clenching it tight, making sure that it continued to be secured to his person. Losing the bag would also amount to dying and he was not about to let that happen, no matter how hard the cursed desert tried to claim his life.

By the time the sun had begun to dip beyond the horizon, the wind had died down to a more bearable breeze and the shifting sand seemed to lose its energy as its movements slowed to a crawl.

The travelers eyes scanned the immediate area and, finding a suitably wide sand dune that looked like it would take a while to erode in the now weakening wind, decided to walk up to the top and plop himself down. His legs burned from the effort required to trek across these treacherous sands and some rest was warranted.

Pulling his bag around in front of him, he opened it up away from the strong breeze and reached a hand into its depths. Grabbing what he wanted, his hand emerged holding a skin full of water, one of the many that he had packed and was now going through at an alarming rate. On the bright side, at least the bag was getting lighter and lighter as the days wore on.

With great care, he popped open the top of the water skin and took a swig, mindful to shield it from the sand-filled wind as much as he could. The water, which was unfortunately warm, filled his mouth briefly before it hit the back of his parched throat and slid down into his gut. He let out a satisfied sigh as he secured the water skin and returned it to his bag. That was his water ration until morning.

He had barely slept these past five days. Whenever the wind died down enough, like this moment, he would find some time to rest. Snatching an hour or two of sleep at a time. He was already pressing his luck being asleep for that long in this perpetually shifting desert, but so far that luck had held.

Positioning his bag properly, and making sure he was parallel to the wind, he lay down for another nap. He could feel the exhaustion to his very bones and sleep took him fairly easily.

It was the wind that woke him, as it usually did. It started to howl once more as it picked up in ferocity and the sand started to fly thicker all around him. With great effort, he managed to get back onto his feet, his aching body displeased with the little rest he managed to get. There would be time for rest when he reached his goal.

The sky was awash with color, shades of red, yellow, and orange near the horizon while blues and purples filled everywhere else. Night was almost upon him, and with it was the gentler light of the moon.

He continued his journey through the shifting sands, stumbling more than a few times but managing to get back to his feet every time. When morning came, he still didn't find what he was seeking, and he drank the next ration of water as well as a piece of jerky. He pressed on, determined as ever despite his lack of success thus far.

Sunset on the seventh day came. Once again the sky was filled with a bright array of color. The man was barely managing to walk. His body was starting to shut down on him, much to his dismay, and it took tremendous effort to take more than a few steps at a time. His water skeins were close to empty and only a few sticks of jerky remained. But he didn't stop.

He pushed and struggled and took one step after another. Until finally his legs could no longer hold him and he fell, tumbling painfully across the sand. His hand, rough and calloused underneath the worn light gloves that he wore, let go of the rope to his bag and it flew off somewhere he couldn't see. He was tired. So very tired. Too tired to even really feel the pain that had been growing across his body these past few days.

Sleep called to him. The long sleep that called to everyone at the end. His vision started to go dark as he closed his eyes. All around him, the desert sand raged and the wind howled and yet he felt strangely at peace in this chaos.

Already the sand was starting to accumulate over his body. It wouldn't be long before he disappeared from view completely, consumed by the desert.

No.

This was not how it was suppose to end. A great anger filled him then. He was angry at the world. Angry at fate. Angry at the gods. But mostly, he was angry at himself. Angry for being so weak. He wanted to yell and cry out, but his body was already shut down and only his mind remained. He was so close to losing himself to the eternal void, and he struggled desperately to keep himself alive. To keep himself awake.

He didn't want to die.

That's when he felt it. The slightest touch on his consciousness. It was a strange feeling, one that he couldn't quite describe, but it was somewhat similar to the sensation you felt when someone blew air gently on your ear or the back of your neck.

At first he thought he imagined it, but then it came again. This time with a little more force to it. And then it pushed into his consciousness. He could feel it slithering around his mind like a snake, examining his memories and his thoughts.

It spoke to him in a whisper at first. It was a quiet whisper, like someone sharing a secret with a friend while out in public.

_What do you seek?_

He wanted to live.

_Why?_

Because he was dying.

_What do you seek?_

The voice was louder now, but he was confused as to why the voice was asking him the same question again, and when he gave the same response the voice repeated itself. It was apparently looking for a different answer. He tried to think what it could be.

What could he want more than to simply live? Here at the doorstep of death.

He wasn't sure how long it took him, but it finally dawned on him. All of his studies. All of his research. All of his efforts. The end goal was never to simply just live. The end goal was to thrive. To take and do what he wanted. To reshape this broken world as he saw fit. In order to do that, however, he needed power.

_What do you seek?_

Power. He wanted power. Power over death. Power over life. Power to make the world tremble. Power over everything!

The voice went silent, and he wondered if that answer was not acceptable either. He could feel himself fading, slipping into the cold abyss, unable to hold on for much longer.

_What are you willing to give?_

Everything.

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**AN: **Just a little idea I had that I wanted to get down in writing. The story will focus on Harry and the gang.


	2. Chapter 1

**X**

**Powers That Be**

**Chapter 1**

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Among the rolling hills and vast plains of the Western March, nestled between the dull gray waters of the Silvermoon Lake and the edge of the expansive Wolfwood Forest, was the quiet village of Godric's Hollow. Home to only a few dozen people, Godric's Hollow was a peaceful collection of mostly wooden structures with thatched roofs centered around a stone paved village square. Everyone knew each other, for it was hard not to get to know what few neighbors there were, and for the most part got along fairly well. Nothing eventful ever happened here, and that was just what Harry hated about the place he called home.

Every day was the same. He would wake up and ready himself for the day, have breakfast with his parents, and then help his father with work or his mother with chores. Occasionally, he would be given some time to go 'play' with the other children, the few of them that there were, but they were strictly ordered to stay within eyesight of the village. That drastically limited the amount of things that they could do or the places they could explore.

Of course they made the most of it, and Harry did enjoy time spent away from working or chores, but after years of doing the same things over and over it was hard not to get bored and feel less enthusiastic about things as the days and years wore on.

Even the weather hardly changed. Most of the time it was blue skies and warm sunny days, broken up by the occasional rain shower or thunderstorm that would pass through as quickly as they came, but for the most part the weather was nice and perfect, as his parents would often describe it. Admittedly, he did enjoy the almost year-round nice weather, but that was beside the point. The village was getting far too boring and was starting to feel way too small for a young lad about to come-of-age.

Over the past few years, now older and bigger, Harry had been straying farther and farther away from the village, stretching the definition of 'keeping the village in sight' as far as he could possibly get away with, and nothing bad ever happened so it further emboldened his adventure-seeking. That meant that he had explored the fringes of the Wolfwood and had rounded the entirety of Silver Lake. Yet he never did break eyesight of the village, at least not intentionally and if he did it wasn't for very long, because despite his craving for adventure he was also a good boy and he didn't want to upset his parents.

He tread the same paths over and over and he could swear, though it was probably not quite accurate, that he knew every tree, rock, and shrub from the far side of the lake all the way to the edge of the Wolfwood. Eventually, there was hardly any adventure left to be had in the area surrounding Godric's Hollow so now he spent his days wishing that someone interesting from the outside world would come along.

On rare occasions there would be visitors from other parts of the kingdom, but for the most part the village was left to its own devices. Too small and unimportant to warrant notice from the greater population, particularly the nobility who lived in castles and mansions and held large tracts of land. Actually, the plot of land on which Godric's Hollow sat was owned by the Royal Family, who bestowed the very name of the village in honor of the scion of their Noble and Most Ancient House, Godric Gryffindor.

Apparently, back when he was alive, Lord Godric Gryffindor, who eventually became the first and indisputably most legendary King Gryffindor, would often visit the place that the village was later built on. He would stroll along the lakeside or hunt in the Wolfwood after setting up camp in the area. In fact, it was him who set the first foundations of the village that now existed today, where there now remained a rather modest cottage for a man of his station. He was said to often escape the capital and spend time at the cottage in order to unwind and relax in the quiet countryside away from all his kingly duties.

Godric the Lion they called him. Fierce, proud, and strong, but also just, kind, and wise. He was the best of the great Lords and Ladies of the four most powerful Houses, or so it was said. When he ascended the throne after the Great War for Unification, the newly established Kingdom of Britannia prospered peacefully until he died of a ripe old age. Upon his death, the start of a long line of Gryffindor kings began, and for the most part the Kingdom continued to grow and thrive in relative peace.

It was just outside the old king's cottage, now long deserted for none of the Gryffindors after Godric ever came to visit, that Harry found himself sitting atop the low stone wall built around the abode, staring with his emerald green eyes out across the tranquil lake only a few minutes walk away. The water was almost perfectly still, with a few ripples breaking the otherwise perfect mirror of the blue sky and wispy white clouds above.

"Harry!" called the familiar voice of his longtime friend Edwin, eliciting a smile from the young boy with messy raven-black hair sitting on the wall as his friend made his way over from the dirt path leading to the rest of the village.

Edwin was the butcher's son, a teenage boy who never quite shed his baby fat, though he was certainly nowhere near as large around as his father. The potential was there, however, and one that Harry would often tease him about. For his part, Edwin swore that he would never get as big as his father. He was roughly the same height as Harry, with shoulder-length curly chestnut brown hair and the beginnings of a mustache indicating that he was soon to enter manhood. Both boys were the eldest males of the small group of children in the village, and they were as such the de facto leaders of the bunch.

"Ed! About time you got here," Harry said cheerfully, waving his hand to greet his best friend.

"Sorry to make you wait. My mum had me feed the pigs _and _clean the kitchen before she'd let me go," Edwin said apologetically as he hopped up onto the wall to sit next to him.

"I figured it was something like that. There's no need to apologize. How's she doing these days? Your mum."

"Better, I think. Father still fusses over her a lot, and I fuss slightly less than he, but she seems to have a little more energy every day," replied the young boy with a wan smile. "Thank the gods."

Harry nodded. "Good to hear! Thank the gods indeed."

Edwin's mother had become seriously ill a few weeks ago, and it was bad enough that she was barely conscious and bed-ridden for a several days. It was the talk of the village at the time, what with there being not much else to talk about, and people were rightly concerned for her well-being and for their own too. They were afraid that it was something potentially contagious, but thankfully she managed to recover and nobody else got sick so that was the end of it. No one really knew why she got ill though, and people simply chalked it up to old age.

At one point she had gotten so bad that the village even considered pooling money together to fetch for the services of a healer from Ottery St. Catchpole, which was the nearest village and half a day's journey south. They were much bigger in size and population, and they had at least one practitioner of the healing arts living there, or so Harry had heard. Unlike it's neighbor to the south, Godric's Hollow had no one capable of wielding magic, yet another indication of the simple and boring life of the village.

Magic. How he wished he could wield it. Life would certainly never cease to be exciting or interesting if he could. And things would be so much easier too. Even the weakest of magicians were able to use magic to ease the more mundane tasks of their life, such as cleaning, moving or carrying things, and the like. Harry had seen and spoken with a magician once, long ago when he was only eleven, and the old man with a magic staff who had come to Godric's Hollow for a few days told him many stories and displayed a few of the magic spells he could perform with a smile and a wink. It had been some of the most exciting days of his life.

Anyone with any magical aptitude was certainly elevated above the commonplace, blessed by the gods it was said, and the few who could wield _real _magic were celebrated by all. They were heroes, nobles, and adventurers who led lives with far greater meaning, purpose, and impact than the lowly one that Harry was about to enter his seventeenth year in. They fought monsters, battled evil, and saved lives with their power.

Sometimes at night Harry dreamed that he was one of them, fighting to save the people from evil, and his name would be known throughout all of Britannia. But that was only in a possibility in dreams. When he awoke from them, he was as ordinary as ever and a part of him was saddened by that fact.

"Hello? Harry? Are you even listening?" asked Edwin with mild annoyance as he looked at the raven-haired boy, breaking him out of his reverie.

"What? Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts," he said, looking sheepish.

"I didn't realize you had enough thoughts to get lost in- OW!" Edwin said as Harry punched him square in the shoulder. "Calm down, you big brute! No need to get all violent on me," continued Edwin in mock anger, his true feelings betrayed by the boyish grin on his face.

Harry laughed easily. "So what were you saying?"

"What I was saying while you were lost in that big empty head of yours-" he jumped off the low wall just as Harry struck at him again, barely missing him. "Was that we should head out to the main road today. I hear there's a traveling merchant coming! At least that's what Sir Howell told me."

Sir Huey Howell was Edwin's neighbor and was a retired knight of the kingdom, which was why unlike the rest of the people in the Hollow he had been granted a family name. He lived alone, but traveled often between Godric's Hollow, Ottery St. Catchpole, and the town of Brixham, which was about three or four days to the southeast of Ottery by horse, depending on how fast you were riding of course. Apparently he had good friends in both those places and he visited them whenever he felt restless.

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. "A traveling merchant? What's that merchant want to come to Godric's Hollow for?"

"Beats me," said the boy as he pulled back some strands of hair that had gotten into his face. "Sir Howell didn't say. But I'm sure this merchant's got tons of stories to share since Sir Howell knows them personally! And I'm sure there's interesting stuff for sale too."

"Are you buying?" mused Harry.

Edwin crossed his arms and grinned. "Maybe! I did get a little money from Sir Howell for weeding his garden and helping him with some repairs to his house the other day, which is how I learned about the merchant coming. Apparently they know each other from before, when the knight was still in the service of Lord Diggory."

"I see. Lucky you then. I'll only be browsing at best," said Harry wistfully, who had only a handful of coppers to his name at the moment.

"Don't worry too much. I probably couldn't afford anything either, it's not like I got _that _much from Sir Howell," Edwin said, still grinning, "Now let's get a move on before our parents find us and decide to make us do something _boring_. If we're lucky, we could talk to the merchant all by ourselves on the way into the village and ask all sorts of things the adults might not... approve of."

Harry laughed and hopped off the wall, then he gave his friend a mischievous grin of his own and gestured towards the path. "Lead the way, Sir Edwin!"

"If it pleases you, Sir Harry," responded the other boy in amusement, walking ahead of him and setting a quick pace that Harry shortly followed, catching up to the slightly taller boy and walking alongside him a little further down the path.

Traveling merchants very rarely came to the village. It was so far out of the way and there were so few people there it usually made no business sense to make the journey, especially since none of the villagers were particularly wealthy. The few merchants that did come through, and the last one was probably three years ago, were simply intrigued by the old tales about Godric or were already at Ottery St. Catchpole and decided to make the relatively short journey over to check the village out. They never stayed more than a day, if they stayed at all. Whenever the villagers needed to restock their supplies, they simply traveled to Ottery themselves.

Still, his best friend was right. The visitors most certainly had interesting stories to tell and cool wares to sell from their travels, not that they could buy any of it, but it was worth it just to look and listen to them spin their tales. Neither of them really knew how much of these stories were actually true, but they wanted to believe that they were and that was all that mattered.

"How are _your_ parents, by the way? It's been a few days since I last saw them," Edwin said as they moved along.

Harry placed both hands behind his head, looking thoughtful as he spoke. "Well, they're the same. Both continue to be blessed with good health. Dad's still busy as ever with his pottery, which mum and I help him with fairly often, myself the most as you know. Mum as usual takes care of everything else from the cooking, the cleaning, the sewing, and everything in between."

"Your mum's cooking is the best!" exclaimed Edwin, making Harry laugh.

"Quiet down, Ed! Your mum might hear you and she'd be right jealous that you prefer my mum's cooking to hers."

"Oh she knows just as well as I that your mother is a far better cook."

Harry could only shake his head and smile. He wasn't going to dispute that.

"Say, doesn't your father have that large shipment of tableware to Brixham coming due soon? I remember you mentioning something about that," asked Edwin.

"Yep! It's for a new tavern that's opening up there and they requested my dad's work specifically. He's already readying the wagon to head out in two days's time. I've been begging him to let me come along so I could finally see what's really beyond our little village, but..."

"He said he'd think about it, didn't he?"

"Yeah," said Harry with a hint of sadness.

They both knew that probably meant no. His dad had been traveling to the other nearby settlements for as long as Harry could remember, but he had never once brought his only son along. The reasons being that his father didn't want to leave Harry's mother alone and also because he said the world beyond their village was far too dangerous for a young boy like him.

But he was about to come-of-age soon, no longer a young boy but a young man. His father had to take that into account, and Harry would try and persuade him by using that as a reason to want to learn more about the world beyond what his parents and the other adults in the village had taught him thus far.

"Well," said Harry with a determined look in his eye. "I think this time, he'll say yes."

Edwin placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "I'm sure he will, Harry," he said seriously. "And if not, perhaps we can talk to wise old Aberforth to intercede."

Aberforth was a graying old man with a stern face and hard eyes that betrayed a past full of hardship, one that he guarded closely for no matter how many times the children asked him for stories, he refused. His gray beard was nearly long enough to tuck into the belt of the long robes he often wore, and he spoke with purpose and wisdom. Many came to him for counsel, both adults and children alike. He would often grumble about it, but in the end he helped them all however he could, all the while careful to not get _too _involved.

His main reason for staying in Godric's Hollow was to take care of his sister, who was unfortunately stricken by some strange illness many years ago and was now, unfortunately, barely able to care for herself.

Harry had seen her once, when he visited Aberforth one rare cloudy day in the village, but for the most part she was kept hidden from view. She seemed a little younger than Aberforth that time he finally saw her, but certainly older than Harry's parents, and she was sitting upon a chair on the porch of their little house looking out into the world beyond with sunken blue eyes that didn't appear to actually see. Her skin was almost deathly pale and her long dull blonde hair was showing some strands of gray.

She did not stir when Harry had walked up to the house, not even when he said hello and waved to her in greeting right before Aberforth came out and shooed him away, telling him to come back another time as he carefully brought her back inside.

When he had asked his parents about her, they had told him that it was a tragic story and one that they were not willing to share. If he really wanted to know, he was free to ask Aberforth about it, but he didn't want to know that badly to risk broaching what was without a doubt a sensitive subject with the old man.

The two boys passed several houses before the path wound its way into the heart of the village and they reached the main square, which had a small circular fountain in the center. Water trickled out from the mouth of a roaring stone lion partially covered in moss as it raised itself up on its hind legs and bared its teeth at the sky.

Other than the fountain, the village square had several buildings lined up along its edges. There was the baker's shop on the corner from where the hunger-inducing smell of freshly baked bread wafted out into the square. Next to it was the butcher's place, and inside they saw Edwin's father working on a slab of pork with a nasty-looking cleaver, blood on his apron.

Edwin did not say hello in case his father asked him to do something at the shop if he showed his face.

Across the square was the village chief's home, though that wasn't actually an officially title or anything. His family, the McLean's, was the first to settle in Godric's Hollow and his ancestors were personal servants to the king who had been given permission to set up their homes on the king's land here. He was currently the oldest person in the village, apparently older even than Aberforth, and was known to be fair and kind. He rarely left his home though. If he did, it was only when it was official business, otherwise it was his wife who went out and about.

Next to the chief's house was a small stable that was open to all, though mostly used by the chief since he was one of the few in the village who actually had a horse. Otherwise, any visitors who came along would put their horses up there for a nominal fee.

On another side of the square stood a small one-story building of stone and wood that smelled of incense. While the village was far too small for a proper Temple of Divinity, this structure served as a place of worship for any who wished to pray or leave offerings to the gods. Next to it was the village well that most of the people got their water from. It was said to be magically enchanted to ensure the cleanliness of the water and the water was certainly always pure when drawn from it.

Then there was the smith's workshop, though he didn't appear to be working that day because the workshop was closed and quiet.

Lastly, there was The Silver Tankard, which was the village watering hole that also, when there were visitors, served as an inn that they could rest their heads at. It was small - "cozy" Harry's father had called it - and his mother was not very fond of it, but it was where practically everyone in the village spent some of their time after sunset cooling off and relaxing after a hard day's work.

They crossed the square and said hello to a handful of people, all of whom they knew very well since they were little, and made their way down the main road that led south. The two boys followed the road as it wound its way out of town and continued over a few of the nearby hills. They stopped when they reached one of the hills some distance away and the road turned into a wide bend that skirted around a steep hill a little further on, half of which had seemingly disappeared for some unknown reason, turning one side of it into a sheer cliff about thirty feet high.

Halfhill Bend. A very literal name for this unique landmark. No one seemed to know how it came to be, with some theorizing that it was Godric's doing somehow for it was his men that made the road leading to the Hollow. Others claimed that there once was a great battle here and the broken hill was evidence of it, though none of the history books or scholars ever mentioned such an event ever happening. Conspiracy, they claimed. Harry's money was on the former.

They found a shaded spot underneath a big oak tree not too far from the road and decided to wait for the traveling merchant there. Harry settled himself with his back pressed up against oak's thick trunk while Edwin lay face up on the grass nearby. From where they were waiting, they could just barely see the tops of the houses in Godric's Hollow in the distance behind them. They passed the time by musing about what they would do if they had all the money in the world as well as discussing whether or not dragons still existed, among other rather generally light topics.

The sun was halfway towards the horizon, and the boys were starting to get hungry _and _thirsty, by the time they heard the telltale sounds of something approaching Halfhill Bend.

Both boys perked up immediately, getting to their feet as their eyes remained glued to the bend in the road. The noise coming from the other side of Halfhill continued to get louder until finally they spotted the merchant, or more specifically, they saw the merchant's impressively large black horse first followed by a sizable canvas-topped wooden wagon that it pulled along behind it. Riding on a seat built into the front of the wagon was presumably the merchant that Sir Howell had spoken of.

He or she, for it was hard to tell from where they were watching, wore what appeared to be a black coat with green and gold highlights over a similarly colored button-down shirt, and gray pants that ended tucked into a pair of dark brown leather boots. The merchant also appeared to have long dark hair and something on their face, but again it was difficult to make out what it really was from this distance.

The wagon, though, was really what drew their attention, for it was unlike any of the admittedly very few merchant's wagons they had seen before. It was large and misshapen with various baubles and trinkets of all kinds and sizes poking and hanging out of the canvas top, looking more like a collection of things gathered over time and haphazardly stuffed into a wagon that could barely contain it all. In fact, Harry thought it resembled more like someone had hastily packed all of their worldly possessions into a wagon rather than a merchant bringing along inventory to sell.

Regardless, both of them were amazed that nothing actually fell out of it what with all the bumps that it probably endured along the unpaved roads that made up the majority of the Kingdom's roadways. Harry even wondered if there might be some magic involved with keeping it all together. Though that begged the question, was this merchant also a mage?

The two shared a quick look of curiosity and confusion at the sight, and they grinned with eagerness in their eyes.

"This merchant _definitely _has some interesting stories," Harry said confidently.

"I want to hear about how he got all that stuff in the wagon," said Edwin, "And how he plans to get things out without making a right mess."

"Well technically, it already _is _a right mess."

"You've got a point."

They both shared a laugh at that.

As the merchant drew close, it became clear that he or she was wearing a blank white mask shaped like an eerily expressionless human face, with small holes for each nostril and slightly larger slits for the eyes. The mask covered the entirety of the merchant's face while dark gloves were over their hands. Surprisingly, the mask didn't muffle their speech as the merchant greeted them, pulling on the reins and bringing the horse and wagon to a stop on the road close to where the two boys were standing.

"Good day, young gentlemen." The merchant sounded friendly enough as he waved at them.

The two boys tentatively walked closer. Harry was hoping he might be able to tell the gender of the merchant from their voice, but upon hearing it he thought it could go either way. Though it did sound a little lower than a typical female, so he was leaning towards the merchant possibly being a man.

"Good day... uh... sir?" responded Edwin, beating Harry by a fraction of a second, hesitant because apparently he was also unsure how to properly address the merchant.

The merchant didn't satisfy their curiosity and made no clarifications, however, and Harry thought it was on purpose. "I see you are out enjoy the sun on such a fine day. A wise choice. Are you boys from Godric's Hollow, by any chance?"

"Yes... sir," replied Edwin, apparently deciding to stick with considering the merchant to be a man. "Born and raised."

"Excellent. I was told it wasn't much farther once I rounded Halfhill Bend," remarked the merchant, glancing back towards the geographic landmark that they had passed only a moment earlier.

"You're right... sir," this time it was Harry who spoke, not looking directly at the merchant's face because he was finding the mask rather unsettling, "It should take you no more than another ten minutes with your horse and wagon to get there at a leisurely pace. In fact, you should be able to see the tops of the houses if you look ahead." Harry gestured in the direction of the village, and the merchant's head turned slightly to follow.

"It appears so," said the merchant thoughtfully, "Are you and your friend on the way back to the village? You can ride along with me if you'd like. The seating isn't comfortable by any means, but we won't be traveling for too long as you said."

Harry and Edwin looked at each other, the former uncertainly while the latter was very much eager.

"Yes, sir. We'd very much like that," said Edwin, and Harry did not protest despite the unsettling feeling he was getting from the masked merchant.

"Hop on then. Let's get to the village. I'm very much looking forward to some food and drink, but first you can tell me a little about yourselves and the village you live in."

**x=x=x=x=X****=x=x=x=x=**

Back in Godric's Hollow, a man with messy jet-black hair was busy in his workshop sitting in front of a sizable contraption known as a pottery wheel. His hands worked deftly as the spinning wet clay between those hands was shaped gradually into the form of a jug. Applying pressure in just the right areas, he adjusted the angle of his hands and fingers a few more times as he worked.

Across his exposed skin was a sheen of sweat thanks to the heat of the enclosed workshop and the work he was putting in. Every so often he would kick with his bare foot the flywheel situated at the bottom of the pottery wheel to keep it spinning. He had been at it for hours now without a break, as he had been doing for the past week, and was on his last piece for the day.

James had been working in pottery for a little over sixteen years now, and this was one of the largest orders he had to fill yet. All the way in the town of Brixham no less. He was certainly happy that his work was gaining recognition and proud that all his hard work since he began this new profession was starting to pay off, but he secretly worried that his client might not be happy with his final products.

He needed to put forth his best work if he wanted to further improve his reputation and gain more business, especially in the bustling town of Brixham, and he had been working tirelessly for the past week to make sure that everything was perfect. After all, he had a family to take care of. A loving wife and a growing boy, both of whom he loved with every fiber of his being, and money was still somewhat tight these days.

In his peripheral vision he noticed the door to the workshop open and bright sunlight from the outside streamed in for a moment before the door was shut. Someone had walked in, and he smiled without breaking his eyes away from his work for he knew who it was. There was only one person who would come in at this hour without knocking.

"Excuse me sir, have you seen my husband?" asked the lovely voice of his wife that sounded as sweet as a lover's kiss planted softly with full lips. There was no mistaking it. It was one that he could recognize anywhere at anytime.

Amused, James decided to play along without removing his eyes from his work. "Well I can't say for certain, my lady. What does he look like?"

"Oh, he used to be quite dashing. Tall and handsome with hazel eyes and an absolute mess of raven-black hair on his head. Hmm... Well-built too, I suppose, at least he used to be, like I said."

James almost turned to give her a look, but kept his focus on the nearly completed jug in front of him and settled for raising his eyebrows. He was dangerously close to having to start over. "_Used_ to be?" he managed to say after a few quiet seconds broken only by the sounds of the pottery wheel.

"Yes," she said wistfully, "Unfortunately, kind sir, I haven't seen him in ages and so I can't say for certain what he looks like anymore. Why, it's been so very long since I've seen him that my memories of him are even starting to fade. Perhaps he's some ugly, sweaty, and fat brute by now."

"Well... that would definitely be a right shame if it were true, my lady." He tried to shake the image of him being fat and ugly that had come unbidden to his mind.

"Quite," sniffed his wife as she came up behind him and gently placed her hands on his shoulders. "So have you seen him, good sir?"

"I believe you are in luck, my lady. A dashing young man actually came through here not long ago that quite fit your description of what he... _used _to be," he said with a grin as he finished up his work. A few more cycles and he would be done.

"Young?" she repeated his description with a quick laugh. "That's good to hear. Do you think he might be on his way to see me then? I miss him terribly."

He nodded. "Yes, I do remember him saying something about heading back to his loving and beautiful wife."

"Is that _all _he said about his wife?"

He could practically see the smile on her face behind him as she said that. If she wanted more compliments, who was he to deny her that?

"Oh goodness no! He wouldn't shut up about you, to be honest. Why, he practically described what I could only believe to be an actual goddess who walks among us, a blessing that us mere mortals should always be thankful for. I had to bribe him to keep his mouth shut so that I could concentrate properly on my work."

With practiced motions she started to massage his aching muscles just as soon as he took his hands away from the clay, satisfied with the completed work in front of him. He sighed into her ministrations as she leaned in close to his ear, tickling him with her warm breath.

"Did my errant husband speak to you about the punishments such a goddess would give to someone who neglected to give her the proper attention she deserved?" she said, half-amused as she struggled to sound even mildly threatening.

He grinned. "He did not, my lady."

"Let me show you."

**x=x=x=x=X****=x=x=x=x=**

The ride into the village had not been as exciting as they had hoped, for the so-called merchant seemed determined not to say anything about himself while continuing to quiz the two boys on their knowledge of the village. Most of the merchant's questions were simple enough, like what professions people had and how many people lived here and for how long. They wondered why he was asking them instead of any of the adults, but neither of them asked.

The few times they did manage to ask the merchant a question about himself, he only said that he would answer them once he got some food and drink in his belly. Something about not talking at length on an empty stomach. He at least gave them a name,_ Langford_, which Harry suspected was not actually his real name, though why he thought that he wasn't entirely sure. He didn't know if Edwin believed the merchant or not.

After leaving the horse at the stable next to the chief's house, and the wagon out in front by the square, the two boys brought the merchant to The Silver Tankard where they now sat across from the merchant as they settled into a booth in the back. The merchant himself ordered a pint of their best ale while the two boys were served mugs of apple juice, both of them receiving questioning looks from the proprietors of the place, Brian and his wife Penny.

Thankfully, the two adults that knew the boys quite well did not ask them outright what they were doing with the masked stranger, deciding instead to simply keep a close eye - and probably ear too - on the trio, but they were sure to get a proper talking to later on.

It was Harry who first noticed that the merchant made no move to remove his mask even as the food and drink arrived, and upon closer inspection the mask seemed to be made of some strange material that Harry wasn't familiar with. When the merchant brought food up to his mouth, the mouth of it followed the merchant's own exactly so that he could eat and drink with it on, and it was arguably the strangest thing Harry had ever seen. There was only one explanation for it: magic.

With his elbow, Harry carefully nudged Edwin, who gave him a curious look as he was busy stuffing his face with steaming Shepard's Pie. Trying as subtly as possible to motion towards the merchant, who was himself eating some vegetable soup, he hoped that his best friend would notice the now very obvious magical mask at work. It took a few seconds, but eventually the chubbier boy's eyes widened in surprise as he too noticed the abnormal mask at work.

"So, Harry and Edwin, was it?" Langford said as he finished his soup and moved on to a bowl of beef and potatoes. Either he didn't mind them staring or he didn't notice, but the two quickly tried to make it seem as if they weren't just staring at his mask anyways.

"Yes, sir. You have it right," said Harry, not nearly as interested in his food now that he was aware of the possibility that this merchant could use magic. Excitement flowed through him like a river run rampant.

"Good. You've been very helpful in answering my questions, and for that I am grateful. I do have one more question however, before I submit to answering a few of yours," the merchant paused as the two boys were now paying close attention to him. "Have you noticed anything... _strange_ going on lately around here? Any weird phenomena of any sort? Unexplained events perhaps?"

Harry turned to Edwin as both of them furrowed their brows in thought and confusion at the question. "Sorry, I don't recall noticing anything strange lately," said Harry.

"I haven't either, sir. This village of ours is no place for strange or weird phenam... phuno... uh... things, sir," said Edwin matter-of-factly, struggling to pronounce the word the merchant just used.

Harry nodded. "The Hollow is, as we mentioned on the road, a-"

"Boring and simple village, yes, yes. You did say that several times, young Harry." The merchant seemed thoughtful, hard to tell though given the impassive mask, and then said, "You also mentioned that you know Sir Howell, yes?"

"Right, sir. And he was the one who told us of your impending arrival, which was why we were out on the road waiting for you," explained Harry, glancing at Edwin who nodded in agreement.

"Where might I find the old knight? I'm sure you've gathered from all my questioning but I've never been here before and I'd like to go pay a visit to my friend once we're done here."

They gave him directions to the retired knight's house from the tavern, and once the merchant was satisfied, he finished up his food and then proceeded to take a sip of his ale. Surprisingly, his pearly white mask seemed perfectly clean despite the food and ale that had surely been in contact with it around the mouth. No doubt part of its magical enchantments was keeping itself clean.

"Thank you boys. You've been most helpful. So then, I did promise to answer some of your questions," said Langford with a smile that stretched his mask, making it even more uncomfortable to look at for too long, and Harry felt a shiver run through him. "But before I do, I will tell you now that there will likely be some things that I cannot tell you, and I'll say so when we come to that. Now, ask away!"

"Are you a wizard?" asked Harry, practically blurting the question out as soon as the merchant stopped talking.

The merchant cocked his head. "What makes you think I'm a wizard?"

"Your mask, sir. It's... not normal," replied the young boy with messy black hair.

There was a short silence as the masked merchant seemed to study the boy, who tried to look anywhere but the unnatural mask he had just pointed out. "My mask," Langford began, "Is enchanted with magic, that much is fact, but simply because I have a magical item does not consequently mean that I am a wizard. Practically any item can be imbued with spells and enchantments, and there are many people who possess such items who can wield them without being able to use an ounce of magic themselves. This is because the magic of the item powers itself, and depending on the enchantments placed, one does not need to pour magical energy into it in order for it to function. My mask is one such item."

"So... you're not a wizard?" Harry said as he and Edwin both soaked in the man's words.

Chuckling lightly, the merchant shook his head. "Technically, no."

Harry looked questioningly at the merchant. "Technically no?"

Breaking into another uncanny smile, Langford did not elaborate.

Harry frowned, unsatisfied with that answer but with no intention of pressing the matter and risk upsetting the masked merchant, and then looked to Edwin. Even though he still had a lot of questions, Harry knew that his friend also had some of his own, and it was more than likely that they had some of the same questions anyway so he urged his friend to ask what was on his mind.

"Sorry to ask sir, but are you... really a _man_?" Edwin looked embarrassed to have asked, but the burning curiosity of his eyes showed how much he really wanted to know. Frankly, Harry was glad that it was his friend who asked that question, for he was unsure if he could have been so bold as to ask the merchant to his face like that himself. He was hoping to clear this up.

The merchant laughed heartily, eliciting stares from the few patrons there were as well as from Brian from behind the bar and Penny who was wiping down tables. "As you see me now, yes I am a man," he said simply. "And don't worry, I've taken no offense."

The way in which Langford responded seemed strange to Harry, but before he could follow up, Edwin asked another question.

"Where are you from, sir?"

"Unfortunately, I don't actually have a... permanent location to call home. You see, my home is my wagon," explained the merchant as he gestured vaguely in the direction of where his wagon was parked, "But I suppose, many years ago I grew up in the city of Cornwall, so that might be a more... sufficient answer for you."

Harry was pleased to note that his earlier observation about the wagon was somewhat true. It was indeed a wagon that someone had put all their worldly possessions in, seeing as how it served as Langford's traveling home.

Cornwall was one of the largest cities in the kingdom and was the furthest city southwest from the capital of Camelot, which was many leagues to the northeast. Harry didn't even know how long it would take to travel to either city from Godric's Hollow. Perhaps weeks at the very least.

"What's it like, sir? A city, I mean. Or even a town, really." Edwin asked eagerly.

"Hmm... have you been to Brixham?" said Langford.

Both boys shook their heads.

The masked merchant frowned slightly. "What about Ottery St. Catchpole?"

Again, the boys shook their heads and the merchant regarded them silently.

"You've never left Godric's Hollow," said the merchant, more a statement than a question.

"We... aren't allowed to leave the Hollow," explained Harry, his voice subdued and his shoulders slumped.

"Well, technically we are allowed to leave the village limits, sir, but only if we stay within eyesight of the village," Edwin added.

"Interesting." The merchant said nothing else as he took a few long sips of his now nearly empty mug of ale. "Do you know why you aren't allowed to leave Godric's Hollow?"

The boys looked to each other. "Safety?" offered Edwin with a shrug and Harry nodded.

"I see." Langford looked around the mostly empty tavern and Harry followed his unseen gaze from behind the mask.

It was still a little too early for the rest of the village to come for a drink and people were still working. Brian and Penny were busy attending to the three other customers who sat at the bar. No one seemed to be paying them any particular attention at the moment, though Penny kept casting furtive glances over to them to make sure nothing bad was happening to the boys no doubt.

"Is the area around the village considered dangerous?" asked the merchant seriously.

"No... not really," said Edwin, "I guess there was that time William, a boy a few years younger than us, was chased by a wolf in the forest, but there was a group of us so when he returned to the group, the wolf left off. Other than that..."

Harry remembered that day. They had been picking berries and herbs for the village at the edge of the wood, and Rory McLean, eldest son of the village chief and a little over twenty-five summers old at the time, was out with them supervising. William, second son of the village blacksmith, was only nine when he had seemingly lost track of himself and found that he was alone deeper into the wood than they were allowed.

The younger boy said that he only realized he was too far in when he heard the growling of the wolf close by and then turned tail and ran for his life. They never did see or hear the wolf that he spoke of, but William swore that it was real and looked genuinely frightened, so Harry and the rest had believed him.

"There are wolves in the Wolfwood, hence the name," admitted Langford, "Though they rarely travel alone. Wolves are pack animals, so if there's one then there are others close by. You were fortunate they did not fall upon the lot of you."

Harry and Edwin shared another look. They were definitely glad to not have been attacked by a pack of wolves, not that either of them had actually ever seen one.

"Any other dangers around here? Monsters perhaps? Violent criminals?" Langford queried, though the last bit was said with a bit of humor.

They both shook their heads. The Hollow and the area around it was pretty safe from their experience, which made Harry suddenly wonder why exactly they were supposed to be so careful when ranging outside the village grounds. Other than possibly encountering wolves in the forest, there wasn't anything else he'd seen that would be classified as dangerous in this area. Deciding to consider it simply as parental caution regarding the safety of their children, he tried not to dwell on it any longer.

Langford had one hand on his mug, the other was flat on the table and he tapped the fingers of that hand onto the wood in a sort of drum beat.

"To your question about what cities and towns are like... Ottery is physically about three times larger than Godric's Hollow, from what I've seen of it anyway. There are at least a couple of hundred people so it is certainly busier and louder with far more buildings found around the central square. Brixham is about five, maybe six, times larger than Ottery, with a heavy wooden palisade all around its perimeter for protection. Soldiers stand on guard at all times. There are a few thousand people who call the town home, with sounds, smells, and sights that will likely overwhelm you if you ever manage to make it out there."

He paused to take another sip of his dwindling ale then turning back to the two young village boys he continued, "Cornwall is massive. Maybe ten times bigger than Brixham. Bigger even. It would take the better part of a day to walk all along its perimeter, which is ringed by thick stone walls and tall defensive towers. It is also a port city, with an extensive dock where numerous ships of various sizes come and go. Nearly every street is paved with stone and the buildings number in the hundreds, most of them stone mixed with wood. Tens of thousands live in the city, with more still living just beyond the walls. And of course there is Nerodia Castle, proud home of the Marqui and Marquess Malfoy of Cornwall."

Harry was finding it hard to even imagine such a place where tens of thousands of people lived. He hoped he could see it some day and experience what it was like for himself. Right then he envied the merchant sitting in front of him because it sounded like the man got to travel far and wide across the kingdom. To have such freedom to go where you wanted was surely a most wonderful life to lead.

"If I may ask, sir... why are you here?" Harry couldn't imagine what would bring such a well-traveled person to their humble little town.

"To visit a friend, of course. You've already mentioned that Sir Howell is expecting me," replied Langford easily. "Besides, I've never been to this part of the kingdom, so it's nice to see some place that I've never laid eyes on previously."

When it was clear that the merchant was to say no more on the subject, and after Brian the barkeep came over with a fresh mug of ale and cleared away their empty plates, Harry looked to the masked merchant with hopeful eyes.

"Do you have any exciting stories you can tell us, sir? Any adventures that you might have been on?" Harry asked, his thoughts now turning to the original motive that the boys had in trying to meet the traveling merchant first. He still had more questions for Langford, if that really was his name, but he was starting to think that the time they had with him was ending soon.

"Or adventures that you've heard about that you might share?" added Edwin excitedly.

"I may have a story or two that might interest you," admitted the merchant as he took a swig of the fresh ale. "But I'll only have time and energy to tell you one at the moment before I take my leave."

The boys grinned at each other.

**x=x=x=x=X****=x=x=x=x=**

On the other side of the kingdom, far to the north, a wrinkled old man with long white hair and a beard that nearly reached his knees walked as swiftly as he could through the soggy cobblestone streets as the cold rain fell from the dark sky in buckets. Due to the heavy rain, there were few people out and about that evening, and none of them paid any heed to the old man as he made his way through town with obvious familiarity. Had any of them taken a closer look, they would have noticed surprisingly that the man in long robes was perfectly dry, for the rain seemingly bounced off of him, repelled by some invisible force.

He was humming a tune to himself as he walked along, not minding the downpour in the slightest, and stopped only when he reached a large stone building from which smoke poured out of a tall chimney. The muffled sounds of numerous conversations and laughter filtered out from the windows and the heavy wooden door that he was now standing in front of. Reaching out with a wrinkled hand to open the door above which hung a weathered wooden sign that read "Hog's Head Inn", he entered the noisy and quite crowded establishment.

Once inside, his piercing blue eyes scanned the room as a few of the patrons within took note of his arrival. None of them seemed to recognize him. Walking further in, he sidestepped a few patrons who stumbled about and managed to get the attention of the barkeep.

"What can I do ye for, ser?" said the balding man with a thick mustache, his hands busy fixing a drink while his eyes stared up at the tall stranger.

"The stars shine brightest in the dark," said the old man with a clear and learned voice.

The man eyed him for a moment before gesturing with his head towards a set of beaten stairs at the back of the inn and then returning to his duties serving drinks.

With a nod of thanks, the old man made his way up the rickety flight of stairs to the second level, where a sitting room with several worn couches and chairs arranged around a low table awaited him. In the corner, the fireplace roared with flame and the sound of crackling wood, giving the space a welcome warmth. Rain drummed against the windows, though all but one of them had the curtains drawn.

Curled up in one of the chairs facing the fire was a silver tabby cat that appeared to be fast asleep.

Walking up to a nearby chair and patting the cushions, the old man took a seat and sighed tiredly as he shut his eyes for a moment. "I came as quickly as I could, Minerva, but I do apologize for my tardiness. You can stop pretending to be asleep now," he said with the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

The cat opened one eye to look at him for a moment. Then it raised its head as it opened both eyes and yawned, mouth stretching open to reveal its sharp tiny teeth before rising up onto all fours. The cat then proceeded to bend down and reach out its forelegs as its butt wiggled slightly in the air while going into a deep stretch, tail twitching behind it. Once done, the cat leaped off the chair and, suddenly and smoothly, transformed into an old woman wearing emerald green robes and a rather stern expression on her face.

"It's good to see you, Minerva," greeted the old man with a smile. "You look well."

"It's been far too long, Albus," sniffed the woman in green as she took a seat where she had been lying as a cat only moments before, her graying black hair tied into a tight bun behind her head.

"Indeed it has," said Albus with a slight frown. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to keep in touch as often as I'd like."

"The King and his blasted Court keep you busy, I imagine."

"Very much so," admitted Albus tiredly.

Minerva fixed him with a critical gaze. "Well, I suppose it can't be helped. You _are_ Lord Albus Dumbledore, Hero of the Kingdom and whatnot after all. But I won't forgive you so easily for neglecting your friends despite your elevated status these days."

Albus inclined his head. "I expected no less from you, Minerva. Now what was so urgent that you couldn't tell me in writing and had to summon me all the way out here from the capital?"

"Perhaps I simply missed the company of a very old friend," she quipped as she crossed her arms, lips pursing into a line.

Albus chuckled lightly, but said nothing as he waited for her to say whatever it was she needed to tell him.

"It's about Sybil," Minerva finally said after a stretch of silence. She sounded hesitant.

Arching an eyebrow at her, Albus began to stroke his incredibly long beard. "What's happened?"

"She's... made a prophecy."

**x=x=x=x=X****=x=x=x=x=**

**AN: **It always amazes me how quickly time flies while I write... hours upon hours just gone seemingly in the blink of an eye. Hope you're enjoying so far! Let me know what you think. There will be a lot of elements inspired by canon, but this is very much an Alternate Universe (AU) story.

Also, for those who might wonder how Harry and co. are comfortable (well, not quite since Harry does signal some discomfort/unease) with a stranger like Langford: he is known to Sir Howell plus the kids are naive and innocent. :)

One last thing: the landmass that the kingdom is located in is more the size of Greenland than it is the British Isles, with the Kingdom residing in the southeastern portion of it. Hence, the ocean is to the south and east, while land is to the west and north. Across the ocean to the southeast is a continent similar to Europe.


	3. Chapter 2

**Powers That Be**

**Chapter 2**

**=x=x=x=x=X****=x=x=x=x=**

By the time Harry returned home, the sun had already dipped well beneath the horizon, with the last vestiges of its light illuminating the twilight sky in a brilliant array of fiery reds and burning oranges that slowly transitioned into sleepy deep blues and mysterious purples the further from the setting sun you looked.

The house that he lived in was fairly basic, built by the hands of his parents before he was even conceived and just large enough to accommodate all their needs. Mostly made of wood and straw, the house had only one floor with two bedrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, and a bathroom. All of it was built with care and attention. Even though at the time neither of his parents were particularly good carpenters, they managed to do surprisingly well despite that obvious shortcoming.

It was by no means a work of art. The architecture was simple and uninspiring to the trained eye, but it did its job and served to protect Harry and his family to some degree from the world around them, and that was really all that mattered in the end to them.

A small outhouse was built some distance away from the backdoor of the house, far enough to give privacy when used but close enough that it wasn't too much of a bother to reach it, particularly when the need to use it was great. Another building stood next to it, this one rougher-looking and made of wood and mud, and served as his father's workshop. Harry didn't like being in there too long for the air was stifling, especially when his father was at work.

Lights from within the house glowed from the windows and smoke rose up into the darkening night sky from the chimney over the kitchen, the only part of the house made of stone. A wooden chimney would certainly cause problems after all.

Near the front door, parked to the side, was the wagon his father used to deliver his products. It was smaller than the masked merchant's, but definitely more orderly as Harry peered into it and noted that it was nearly at capacity.

When he entered the house, the wooden door creaked as he shut it behind him with the light thud of wood against wood, and his mother called out from the kitchen almost immediately at his arrival.

"Welcome home, Harry dear! Please come help me with supper."

"Coming mum!" Harry said as he made his way the few short steps around to the kitchen.

His mother, Lily, stood with her back to him, her easily distinguishable red hair flowing across her back, while she worked on what smelled like something with beef and garlic in a cooking pot on the stove. Smoke from the wood-fueled fire underneath the stove, as well as the actual dish itself, rose up into the stone hood overhead that funneled it all up into the chimney and out of the house.

"I hope you've been keeping out of any trouble," said his mother without looking at him. "Please set the table dear."

"When have I ever been in trouble, mum?" he asked lightly.

She snorted. "Well, that doesn't mean you won't decide to get into any trouble today!"

Harry laughed. "And have you and dad worry so? I promise I've been as good a boy as I always have been these past sixteen years. I won't go looking for trouble!"

This time it was Lily who laughed, and it sounded like flowers blooming merrily in the warmth of spring. "I suppose I'll believe you. Did you at least do anything fun today? I distinctly remember telling you to go have fun, after all."

"Well..." he began and he told her all about his and Edwin's interaction with the masked merchant.

His mother was silent for a while as she digested the news, and Harry started to wonder if perhaps his mother disapproved. She always did seem a bit wary of magic, the few instances of it that did happen to occur in the Hollow over the years always brought a concerned look to her face, but Harry never could understand why. To him, magic was a most wonderful thing to be able to wield, and any opinion to the contrary seemed _wrong _to him.

His father seemed to be similarly wary of it, though not to the same extent as his wife. James was certainly still a boy at heart, and whenever talk of magic came around and Lily was not present, he was more than capable of being excited about it. Only when the beautiful redhead he called his wife was among the present company was he most cautious about the conversation of magic, otherwise he was certainly freer and more appreciative of it than his partner. Something that Harry was not remiss in noticing.

"You said his name was Langford?" she said in a rather subdued tone.

"Yes, mum. A traveling merchant born in Cornwall who's apparently a good friend of Sir Howell's," he said as he set the table for supper. He hoped that the merchant's association with Sir Howell would help to allay any fears his mother might have about the man, who had been quite friendly with the boys despite his strange and rather unnerving mask.

"Cornwall..." muttered Lily darkly, and he wanted to ask her what that was about but his mother quickly spoke again, the darkness in her words gone in an instant, replaced instead by suspicion.

"And he had a magical mask? One that he wouldn't take off? Even while _eating_?"

"Yes, mum. It was quite... creepy, actually. Though he was nice and friendly enough that it wasn't too bad, really. He paid for our food and drink too," Harry replied, finding himself wanting to defend the merchant whom she had never even met.

"Hmph. How rude of him to not even take it off while eating at the table," she remarked with a huff.

A chuckle from the master bedroom made Harry turn in that direction, as the door to that bedroom faced the dining room that he was standing in and was on the opposite side from the kitchen.

The dashing figure of his father, James, stood in the doorway, tall and lean as he pressed himself against the door frame with his arms crossed, hazel eyes staring straight at Harry. "Perhaps he's horribly disfigured and simply wants to keep anyone from suffering to look upon such a face, especially while eating," he offered with a grin directed towards Harry, who grinned back.

"Or perhaps," countered Lily gravely, "He's hiding his identity for nefarious purposes."

Her husband frowned. "I very much doubt we have anything to fear from a friend of old Sir Howell. An honorable man like that wouldn't consort with the wrong crowd."

Lily didn't reply while Harry looked to his father questioningly. Was there something to fear with strangers coming into town these days? They had never said anything to him before, only that he should exercise good judgement and common sense when interacting with strangers, the few of them that managed to make it out this far into the middle of nowhere.

While definitely odd, Langford never seemed dangerous to Harry. Before he could ask his parents to elaborate, though, the redhead of the family spoke again.

"I don't want you hanging around that masked man again, you hear me, Harry? I'm not comfortable having my child in the company of masked men, friends of friends or not. And certainly not one who refuses to take it off even for a moment."

James sighed and more quietly to his son said, "Listen to your mother." In this matter, there apparently was no use in arguing. Not that he made it a habit to.

"Yes, mum," said Harry begrudgingly, though he doubted very much there were chances to spend more time with mister Langford anyway. It was highly unlikely that the merchant would be staying long in the quiet village of Godric's Hollow. Someone like that certainly sought out more exciting locales, and it was more than probable that the merchant would be away within the next day or two.

"Well, enough about masked men and magic," said James as he slapped his thigh with a hand to mark the changing of subjects and therefore apparently moods, "How was Edwin today? His mother alright?"

Harry went with the flow and updated him with what he had learned from Edwin, and both his parents were pleased to hear that she was recovering without any issues. Supper was served shortly after, delicious as it always was, and they talked about other mundane goings on in the village before finally they readied themselves for bed.

That night, Harry drifted to sleep thinking about magic like he normally did, and his dreams were full of it.

**=x=x=x=x=X****=x=x=x=x=**

Lily was sat upon the bed, her legs underneath the covers and her back against the thin wooden headrest, when James finally walked back into their bedroom after washing his face and brushing his teeth. Her eyes shone with worry and her lips were pressed into a thin line, an expression that she rarely wore in their many years at the Hollow.

James stood still for only a moment as he regarded her, beautiful as ever even with the worried look on her lovely face, then he quietly settled into bed next to her.

"What is it, love?" he asked softly, placing his hand over hers as it was laying on the bed between them.

She blinked and then turned to him, the worry deep in her deep emerald eyes. "You know why," she said, almost accusingly.

With a sigh, James squeezed her hand reassuringly as he held her gaze with his own. "Nothing's going to happen, dear. We've been here for nigh seventeen years now, and we've been careful. Incredibly careful. There's little to worry about."

She shook her head in short movements. "The longer this continues, the more likely that we'll... slip... that something _will _happen. You know as well as I how dangerous this world really is. And Harry..."

James leaned in to his wife and kissed her temple, resting his head against her own while the edges of his mouth curled into the slightest of frowns. The worry she felt gnawed at him too, something he didn't care to admit to his wife right then, but he had to say something.

"We'll deal with it one day at a time, Lils, as we always have." He sounded more confident than he felt.

**=x=x=x=x=X****=x=x=x=x=**

Some time later that evening, on the other side of the sleepy village of Godric's Hollow, young Edwin, second son of the village butcher, was having a most difficult time falling asleep, and it wasn't because of the terribly loud snoring of his father or even his brother. He tossed and turned, threw his blanket off of him and put it back over, and he even moved and fluffed his pillow several times. Nothing seemed to work to get him to feel comfortable enough to go to sleep, though it certainly wasn't helpful that his mind was still abuzz with his and Harry's interaction with the mysterious masked merchant named Langford earlier that day.

Very much like his best friend, Edwin was fascinated with magic and the world beyond the safe and comfy confines of their village. In fact, his dream one day was to be able to travel the wide world with Harry, and maybe, just maybe, they might even learn how to wield some magic in the process. A foolish dream for the sons of a butcher and a potter perhaps, but it was a dream that he wanted to come true nonetheless.

To see and be reminded of magic once again made him feel restless, yearning for the time that the two of them could finally set out and see the world that was only known to them in stories told by others and the scant few books they were able to just barely read. Even his parents had at one point in their lives gone to see the greatest city of all, Camelot, the shining jewel and capital of the whole Kingdom. A place where magic was as part of everyday life as anything. What he wouldn't give to be able to be there and experience it for himself.

Rolling over in his bed, Edwin thought, not for the first time, about putting a plan into motion to get him and Harry out of Godric's Hollow on a journey of a lifetime. Even if they only went out once in their lives, only to return to their families in the Hollow at the end of it, the journey alone would be more than enough to be worth all the trouble. There were three significant problems: one, they needed money; two, they needed more practical world experience; and three, their families. Though admittedly, the second problem wasn't as big an issue as the other two.

The boys had been saving up for a while now, but their measly savings were unlikely to last more than a few days out on the road, especially when prices for things were sure to be different across the kingdom. Stealing was certainly very much out of the question. Even if he might entertain the idea, he very much doubted Harry would, and he was not about to sully himself or his family with such a shamefully criminal act.

Of course, they could always try and earn money while on the road, but they needed to learn how best to go about that. More experience with travel would certainly help in that regard. That was why he was pushing Harry to go with his father to Brixham, and oh how Edwin wished he could go along with them, but that was even more of a stretch than Harry himself, who was already having a tough time convincing his father to let him come along.

Then there was the problem of their families to consider. Harry was especially in a bind on that front because he was an only child, so all his parents's hopes and dreams now rested with him. He was likely expected to follow continue his father's legacy as a potter, which while a noble profession, was most assuredly not what _Harry_ wanted to actually do with his life. Neither of them were quite sure how to solve that problem without upsetting anyone.

At least Edwin had some wiggle room as one of three children, not to mention being the second son. His older brother would likely be expected to follow on their father's footsteps, which left Edwin free to do what he wanted once he came-of-age. Something that was happening relatively soon. But a big part of him didn't want to simply leave his closest friend here while he went off to explore the wider world.

With an exasperated sigh, he shook his head and tried not to think on it any more. He was getting nowhere with his thoughts anyways and his head was starting to hurt. He wasn't sure if it was from all the thinking he was doing about their dilemma or from his tiredness finally coming through. Probably both.

It was very late, that much he was sure, for the darkness outside his window was complete and even the sounds of the crickets had diminished somewhat. Unable to calm his mind enough to drift to sleep, tired though he felt, he sat up and looked at the bed on the other side of the room wherein lay his older brother Erwin. The older boy was sound asleep, his snores nearly rivaling that of their father who was just in the next room.

Feeling thirsty, he decided to grab some water from the large covered bucket of drinking water that they kept in the kitchen. The water came from the village well and was refilled every day at least twice a day, once in the morning and once before sunset. With practiced ease, he carefully and quietly, not that it was hard to do amid the din of snores from his male family members, crept into the kitchen and got himself the water he craved. After downing a full cup, he filled another one and was about to return to his room when he heard something that made him go totally stiff.

An unexpected noise that came and went as quickly as he heard it. So quickly that he thought he might've simply imagined it, but then he heard it again. And again. And it continued for some time. It was short but distinct every time it came, unmistakably caused by someone or something that was out there in the dead of night. Were it not for the fact that he was in the kitchen, he probably wouldn't have heard it from his bedroom over the loud snores of his father and brother.

A feeling of dread crept over him, along with a rush of excitement and curiosity. Slowly, carefully, he edged his way towards the nearest window and peered out into the darkness beyond. Unfortunately, his eyes were unable to see much this deep into the night and the moon was nowhere to be found, but the noise was certainly coming from across the way. As he listened for it, he focused on the sound and gathered that it was coming from one of the neighboring houses.

Sir Howell's.

Straining his eyes to their limit, he tried to look where he remembered the old knight's house would be if he were staring out at it in the middle of the day from where he was standing. Then, after some time had passed, he thought he saw the faintest glow from a light barely lit, and in its weak light he thought was the figure of a man hunched over and moving in such a way that the sound came forth at regular intervals and carried just barely through the night.

But he could have been imagining such things. He did not trust his eyes in such darkness.

Edwin figured that the sound of whatever was going on wasn't loud enough to get much farther than his own house, so none of the other neighbors in the immediate vicinity could probably hear it either since they were on the far side of Edwin's house from Sir Howell's, not that any of them would be awake at this hour to begin with.

Blinking as he tried in vain to see clearer, he swallowed as he felt his heart beating loudly in his chest, and it sounded so loud that he wondered if perhaps whatever was out there could hear it too. When the other sound didn't seem to stop, nor did he hear anything else approaching, he felt safe.

Finally, to make sure he wasn't dreaming, he reached up to pinch himself. Then tried again harder.

When he didn't suddenly wake up in his bed, he realized that this was certainly no dream. Something was really happening over there. But what? Was it perhaps some sort of trouble? Should he alert his family? He didn't know what to do.

This was Godric's Hollow, a place of constant peace and quiet, where nothing truly exciting ever happened, neither bad nor good. Oh sure, there were definitely good things and bad things, but it was all very simple and mundane in his opinion. But surely this was something abnormal, something exciting though possibly not in a good way, that he had to tell someone about.

Yet he knew that even if he told someone now, that if he went to wake his father or his brother, that there would be a lamp and candles lit, and the sounds of his family moving about would certainly alert whatever was over at the neighbor's place, and it would then have time to hide itself and whatever it was up to. And when they eventually went over there with lights to see, they would probably find nothing at all. Edwin would be lectured and probably never listened to on such matters again.

No. He had to find out on his own for now, while whatever was going on over there was taking place unimpeded without worry of being seen so late at night. He would only take a closer look, as quietly as he could, and he would not do anything else. It would be foolish to even _try _to do anything else. With that settled, he took comfort in the fact that the night was dark enough that he was surely going to be impossible to see unless someone came up to him with a light.

Plus he knew the grounds before him as well as he knew the back of his hand so even though he himself would find it nearly impossible to see, he would be able to make his way. Once he was close enough, whatever he saw he would then report to the proper figures, though likely not after he spoke about the entirety of it to his best friend. Harry would surely be able to help him decide on what to do with whatever he discovered happening out there.

Determined, though no less fearful, he made his way mostly by memory to the front door of his home. He unbolted the door and unlocked the doorknob as quickly and quietly as he could, and with great care he opened the door just enough to let himself pass unimpeded. Once outside, he dropped to a low crouch and slowly made his way on all fours towards the now clearer sound out in the open night air.

He realized then, as he crawled his way across the front yard of his house, that this was actually the first time he had ever deigned to sneak out of his house in the middle of the night. The thrill-seeking adventurer deep within him was absolutely ecstatic, and the adrenaline flowed in his veins to help him steel himself from the fear and nerves that certainly plagued him even as he relished the moment.

Sir Howell's abode was a little over a fifth of a mile away from Edwin's. It wasn't overly far, but getting there on all fours was certainly a major undertaking, especially for one in his physical condition. Edwin was no stranger to the exertions of youthful play, running and jumping this way and that, but neither was he fit enough to be considered athletic.

By the time he was only barely halfway to the old knight's home he was sweating and trying his hardest not to breathe too heavily. He stopped in an attempt to regain his composure, noting that from his current position he was still too far to see anything with enough clarity to be reliable.

This was not going to end well if he continued in such a manner. The evening chill clung about him even as his body burned with his exertions and the sweat drenched his skin and clothes. Deciding instead that walking low to the ground would be easier and also faster, he continued on that way, though his legs protested the idea quite vehemently. It was better than crawling on all fours to be sure, though it was still quite taxing, but he did manage to finally get close enough to see something.

And he definitely did see something. Just outside the old knight's home, a lamp had been set on the ground, lit only barely enough to provide the dimmest of light to see in the pitch black of the still night. There was a figure there, standing on both legs and shaped like a man, with something in its hands that Edwin thought quite resembled a shovel. It took him only another few seconds to realize that whoever or whatever it was, it was _digging_.

He couldn't help but gasp aloud at the realization, and immediately reached up to cover his mouth at his folly. He even stopped breathing entirely, despite the demand for air that his lungs and beating heart cried out for thanks to the physical trial he had just submitted himself to in order to get out to where he was now crouched. His body shook and his eyes were wide with terror while he watched the unknown figure stop suddenly from its work and quickly turn around as if looking for something in the darkness surrounding it. Looking for _him_.

Still holding his breath, Edwin edged away as quickly and silently as he could, and when he was far enough away and the sound of the digging began anew, he sucked in a controlled gasp of air as his mind spun both at the lack of air and at what he had just witnessed.

Even in the dimmest light of that feeble lamp, Edwin had seen that the figure had a mask of purest white.

**=x=x=x=x=X****=x=x=x=x=**

With the dull gray light of the early morning, Harry awoke after another night of eventful dreams that for the most part he could scarcely recall. He knew that great and also, on occasion, terrible things happened in this dreamworld of his, but every morning he found it difficult to remember much detail about them, only that they were always impactful in some way or form to him.

Some nights he would even awake in the dead of night, covered in sweat, and the faint scar on his forehead that he had had since as far back as he could remember would burn without knowing ever really knowing why.

The first time he had brought this to the attention of his loving parents, they had told him that it was simply the side-effects of some accident that happened to him as a child, and yet when pressed for details, they were uncharacteristically tight-lipped on the matter. He had even joked that they might've dropped him as a child, but they didn't respond with laughter as he thought they would, only strained smiles as if they were discussing some matter that was best left untouched.

They simply said that he would have to deal with it for a while, and that in time the dreams and pain would fade and become less frequent, but by his estimation it seemed to be growing _more_ frequent these past few months. He hadn't brought it up to them again in a long while though, and in fact it had been over a week now since his last episode when his scar erupted in pain, the longest it's been between incidents in months.

Perhaps his parents were right after all and he had somehow simply aggravated it recently so it was acting up. Still, if he knew the specifics of his injury he felt that it would be easier to recuperate from it and minimize its side effects than to be kept in the dark, but he didn't push the issue with them. The pain wasn't too bad anyway, and in some ways he was almost getting used to it.

Setting about the kitchen, it was his turn to serve breakfast that day so he started on the eggs and got the bacon and sausages that he took home from the butcher's yesterday thanks to Edwin and his father, who they met after their most interesting meeting with the mysterious Langford. It was a hearty meal that he was preparing, one that he and his parents were sure to properly appreciate once they got down to consuming it.

When breakfast was steaming and on the table, his parents finally came out looking a little worse for wear than they normally did, though Harry made no mention of it as they sat down to eat the results of his labor. There was precious little talking, for James and Lily both were not up to it that morning, and his father in particular was never a morning person to begin with. Once they were finished breaking their fast for the day, they were all surprised to hear the sound of someone rapping at their door.

All three looked to each other with curious glances, and all three realized that none of them were expecting anyone.

"I'll get it," said Harry cheerfully, and before his parents could say anything he was already by the door. In truth, he expected it was likely Edwin coming to call early on him, though why in the world he would be doing so he had no idea.

Both his parents shared a concerned look between themselves that went unnoticed by the young boy, who opened the door with a smile and was rewarded with the sight of his clearly tired and somewhat loopy best friend. While not entirely surprised, he was certainly curious as to his friend's appearance at this hour.

"Ed! What brings you over here so early in the morning?" Harry asked, not noticing the looks of relief that crossed his parents's faces at his words as they began to move again and clean up the remains of breakfast.

Edwin gave him a quick smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey, Harry." His tone was flat and tired.

"Trouble sleeping?" That much was clear from his friend's appearance.

"Yeah," his friend shrugged nonchalantly.

"Something you wanted to talk about...?" Harry blinked, trailing off in the hopes that his friend would get to the point here. He knew that they both still had chores to do that morning, and he'd rather get them done sooner rather than later. He also knew that there was clearly something on his friend's mind, but he was probably not sure how to tell Harry about it.

"Well..." Edwin frowned and shook his head, "It's probably nothing."

Harry gave him a look. "You came all this way so early in the morning... for something that was probably nothing?"

Edwin scratched his head and seemed to be debating something internally. "Hopefully..." he trailed off.

"Is everything alright, dear?" called Harry's mother from the kitchen.

"Yes, mum! It's just Ed come to tell me that..." he paused for only a second as his mind raced, "... that his parents offered to have me over for dinner tonight."

"Oh, well that's nice dear. Tell them we say hello!"

Ed looked confused for a second, but then nodded. "I'll... tell you later then. Sorry."

"Right," said Harry, who took in a sharp breath as he moved closer to his friend, peering at the boy's face with narrowed eyes. "Are you okay, Ed?" he asked seriously. This was a very strange Edwin he was talking to, and it was definitely troubling. He had seen a tired and sleep-deprived Ed a handful of times before, and this was similar in some ways, but there was something off about it that Harry couldn't quite place. Something troubling.

His best friend sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... tired, is all. I can... I can explain all this later. See you, Harry." With that his friend gave him a cursory smile and then turned to walk off.

Harry watched him leave with concern etched over his youthful features.

"What was that about?" asked his father this time as Harry shut the door.

"Like I said, Ed was simply passing along an invitation to eat dinner at their place later tonight," Harry repeated.

"Uh-huh," said James with a disbelieving look at his son, "And he woke up extra early and walked all the way over here... to tell you that?"

Harry shrugged and put on what he considered an innocent smile, "He's excited, I guess. Some big announcement or something."

"Big announcement?" said Lily from the kitchen.

It was always tough to have a private conversation in such a small space. Unless you were speaking in whispers, you could pretty much hear anything said within these wooden walls, and Harry struggled to come up with something. Thankfully though, his father supplied him with some ammunition.

"Hmm... maybe it's something to do with the upcoming feast?" said James with a few strokes of his chin.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. So..." he started, steering the conversation away from Ed and his family. "What do you need me to do today, mum? Dad? I was hoping to be done with work and chores by midday so I could go for a swim in the lake. It's been a while."

"Didn't you just go for a dip last week?" asked Lily as she walked by him to go into the master bedroom.

"Yes, mum. Like I said, it was a while ago," he said, eliciting some light laughter from his parents.

"Well, watch out for the monsters in the lake," his father warned. "The giant squid, especially."

"James!" cried Lily admonishingly.

"What, Lils? He should be careful in the lake, that's all. Can't a father give a word of caution to his son?"

Harry smiled.

They then proceeded to give him a list of things they needed him to do before they'd let him go free for the day. The list wasn't long, thankfully, but the entire time Harry worriedly thought about what it was that troubled Edwin.

When noon passed by and Harry finally finished, he made his way over to the house of his closest friend, unable to keep his mind off of whatever it was he had to say any longer. A quick call of his name and knock on the door elicited only a greeting a notice from his mother that Edwin was not to be found there. Thanking the woman, and wishing her continued good health, Harry made for the butcher's shop where Edwin's father gruffly told him that the boy had dashed off as soon as his work was done and he knew not where.

There were several places throughout the area surrounding Godric's Hollow that Harry thought his friend could be, and he wasn't entirely sure which one he was most likely to be at since they went to each one a fairly equal number of times. But after thinking on it some more, he supposed there was one place they went to slightly more than the rest, and his legs were already moving in that direction as quickly as it had come to mind.

On his way there, however, he came across a group of children several years his junior, all of whom looked up to him and Edwin. Their faces broke into wide, toothy smiles upon seeing him and they flocked around him, even as he tried to shoo them away and tell them that he was in no mood to play at the moment.

They did not heed him and he was forced, at least for a little while, to entertain them for he figured they might follow him all the way to where he thought Edwin might be. And that was not going to happen if he could help it.

There were five of them, ranging in ages from seven to thirteen, and they wanted to play a simple enough game: tag. He decided to play along for a few rounds, until he found an opportune moment where he could run away out of sight and hopefully far enough and for long enough that they would give up on trying to find him.

None of the kids could ever hope to match his speed, what with his much longer legs and stronger constitution, but if there was one thing he knew from being a kid once himself it was that they could be stubborn. And they, like all the rest of the other children, knew most of the places that children like them would go, for he and Edwin were definitely still considered to be among the children.

If the kids kept searching, and there was a chance that they might, they would most certainly might eventually find them. Though not if Harry went to where he thought Edwin might be. Though in all likelihood by the time that happened he and Edwin would have hopefully sorted out whatever mess was troubling his best friend, and it was most certainly troubling enough to have affected the boy very much.

So it was that after a relatively short time playing with the younger kids, Harry managed to successfully evade them and make his way to the abandoned cottage of Godric Gryffindor without any of the younger kids trailing after him.

**=x=x=x=x=X****=x=x=x=x=**

The Royal Palace of the Kingdom of Britannia was without a doubt one of the most impressive castles ever built by human hands in any era, for it was certainly more a castle than a palace. Or perhaps, ever built by human magic was a more appropriate description. Constructed by the Four Founders, arguably the wisest and most powerful wizards and witches in human history, the monumental castle was very much a living, almost breathing, testament to their tremendous magical power and vision.

Made largely of marble and granite, though some parts were made of ivory of all things, the castle was large enough to house a whole town if needed, or perhaps even a small city if pressed, with rooms and halls to spare such that most of the time it felt rather empty and unoccupied despite there being many who did live and work within its beautiful, enchanted walls.

Its largest halls could dwarf the entirety of other lesser castles and many who found themselves inside would swear that each room and hall expanded if needed, shrinking back to its normal size when whatever need for its larger versions ended. In fact, in the centuries since its construction, there were still plenty of spaces left unassigned and unused, gathering dust while they lay dormant, waiting for the time they would either be of use or be stumbled upon by some unsuspecting soul lost in the labyrinth of halls.

Getting lost in the many gilded passageways, stairwells, and halls happened more often than people liked to admit, even for those who had been at the palace for years. This was especially true since almost all of the stairs were apparently enchanted to shift every now and again like some massive, living puzzle. Supposedly, it was meant to be some kind of defensive measure should the palace ever be assaulted, but questions were often asked as to why this particular 'defensive' feature was active during peacetime, to which no one could find a suitable response other than 'the Founders will it so.'

Statues of all shapes, sizes, and subjects were found in the hundreds from the deepest dungeon to the tallest tower, ranging from lions and griffins to humans and dragons, and everything in between. Some of them were known to be enchanted, while others were simply suspected of being so. The exact triggers for when and under what conditions they would come to life were not well-known, but the majority of the people in the palace were not in a rush to find out anytime soon, for there was a general consensus that these statues came to life as part of the defensive capability of the castle.

Luckily, the Founders hadn't found a way to bind shades or ghosts to the castle, though there had been rumors that there were attempted experiments to do so. Rumors that were of course spread in hushed whispers behind closed doors, for it was indeed a crime to sully the name of the Founders with any mention of potentially Dark Magic that influenced souls that they most certainly had nothing to do with.

However they did succeed in something vaguely related: living paintings. Almost all of the paintings that hung within the palace grounds could move and talk of their own free will, something that unnerved many of the mundane people - the people who couldn't use magic - and perhaps even more surprising was that these painted figures could move about the entirety of the castle through all of the paintings because apparently they were all connected.

What's more, the figures depicted in these paintings appeared to retain the identities and personalities, at least superficially, of the subjects they were based on. This was simply done by artificially copying the thoughts and emotions of the subject of the painting at the exact moment that the painting was created, a skill that was incredibly rare today. Thankfully, and perhaps wisely, the only room without any paintings at all was the Throne Room, wherein the current King and Queen held court.

Strangely enough, no living paintings of the Founders could be found. In fact, the only paintings in the Royal Palace that were _not _magical and 'alive' were those of the Founders. There were two sets of them throughout the entirety of the massive hold, one found in the King's private study, and the other was in a room in the highest tower.

Of its many towers that reached like trees the size of mountains into the sky, the tallest of them, the one made of purest shining ivory, was the one that Lord Albus Dumbledore was assigned in his capacity as Royal Court Wizard and Supreme Sorcerer of Britannia. Often was the peak of it cloaked in thick clouds, as if it ascended into a higher plane altogether, and it was meant to signify that the one who held it was the highest level mage in the land.

A circular stairwell with an untold number of steps was technically the only physical way up to the main office at the peak, though of course one could simply fly up if capable of doing so. Thankfully, magic allowed Albus to instantly teleport himself up and down whenever he needed to, and on this particular morning he was already up in his rather cramped office brooding quietly behind his desk that barely had any space unfilled.

He was leaning back in his chair, hands folded together neatly in front of him. He had been like this for hours already.

The words of one of his oldest friends from the previous evening were still fresh in his mind. She spoke of prophecy, a whisper from divinity of things to come, a pale silhouette of the path fate pushed them all along. It sounded both ominous and yet unclear as to its overall potential impact upon the world.

Did Albus trust it to be a True Prophecy? Not really. He had taken the supposed prophecy with a grain of salt, especially given its source. Sybil Trelawney was a descendant in a long line of powerful seers that was indisputable, but she had yet to produce a legitimate prophecy that had come to pass, and the woman was nearing fifty years of age! But the description of how it all happened, as well as the thoughts of his good friend, made him think on the matter more carefully.

Prophecies were finicky things, often vague, and yet with something where every word was important, it was maddeningly difficult to find exact enough meaning in them to act appropriately. In addition to that, there was also the problem of timing. The prophecy could be about something fated to happen soon, or maybe twenty or even a hundred years from now. Possibly even more. He and everyone and everything he cared about could be dead and gone by the time the prophecy truly came about.

So there was always the question of _should he really even care about it_? He sighed, rubbing his tired face. Particularly in light of everything already going on in the world at the moment, he was increasingly leaning towards shelving the recently revealed prophecy to tackle for another day. He did not have time to seek out young children, who may or may not already exist, fated to fight an ancient threat that also may or may not currently exist.

Not when there were fires burning almost everywhere in the kingdom these days, fires that had to be stomped out. Problems that were not so easily solved by force or magic, not if he wanted to keep at least some semblance of order without throwing the kingdom into civil war for the first time in history. He _almost _missed the relative simplicity of dealing with the greatest enemy he had ever known, a man who deigned to crown himself Emperor of all the world. The Dark Lord Grindelwald. But that war was ended long ago, by Albus's own hand no less.

Almost as if on cue, a majestic black and brown owl soared into his office from the open door that led into the grand spiral staircase. With crystal blue eyes, Albus studied the bird closely as it circled twice around him before it dove and flapped its wings abruptly to arrest its motion so as to land on what little space was available on his desk.

Hooting, the owl blinked at him with its large amber eyes and then extended a leg, tied to which was a letter with a seal on it that made him stiffen as it caught his eye. Feeding the bird a treat, and receiving a thankful hoot in reply, the large bird waited and watched as he carefully broke the seal and fished out the handwritten letter within. His expression turned most grave as his eyes flitted across the hastily scribbled words.

"Oh dear," was all he managed to say.

**=x=x=x=x=X****=x=x=x=x=**

The doors leading into the old king's cottage were locked tighter than a saddle strapped to a rambunctious horse, and all the windows were latched firmly shut.

Well... almost all. One of the windows in the back, partially hidden behind a conveniently thick bush and sprawling ivy, had only been partially latched a long time ago, something that Harry had discovered one day in the midst of goofing around. With some wiggling and jostling he and Edwin were able to get it to open up, allowing them unfettered access into the abandoned home away from home for a legendary historical figure.

Harry had actually been surprised, and even a little disappointed, to discover that the cottage apparently had no magical security to it. Godric Gryffindor, one of the Four Founders of the Kingdom and one of the most talented wizards in history, considered this his sanctuary. A personal retreat of sorts. It was almost unthinkable that he would not place down some magical defenses to protect from unwanted intrusion, especially from two young boys who had no magic talent between them.

Not that Harry minded too much, since it did allow them safe access to a place that such a legendary figure once lived in. Or perhaps there were actually defenses long before, but they had since faded over the many long and quiet years. Perhaps his descendants had come and removed the protections on the place too, after emptying it out of anything important of course.

Five rooms there were, all spacious and well-built. In one corner was a mostly bare master bedroom, with a modestly large bed for a king and a simple end table. Attached to the master bedroom was a bathroom as large as the room in which Harry's parents slept with a tub larger than Harry's bed. Next to the master bedroom was a study, with a heavy desk that sat right at the center, a worn leather chair behind it, and two slightly less worn cushioned chairs in front. The study led out into a room that looked like a combination of a parlor and a dining room. Lastly, there was the kitchen, and it was here that their secret entryway let them slip into.

Harry remembered the wonder and excitement he felt as he and Edwin explored the small, humble space that once housed a Founder and a King.

They had been quiet, eyes wide and alight with awe, as they took it all in. Every piece of furniture, scratch on the floor, hole in the wall, burn mark on the counter, and the few items that were left behind were looked upon with something most akin to reverence. More than once did they look to each other with faces full of disbelief at their stupendous good fortune. Very few people had ever had the privilege to stand where they were now, and the significance was not lost on them despite their youth.

Among the few things they found in the cottage were a handful of old leather-bound books with words that were far beyond their grasp. Books that they didn't dare take out into the world and so were left where they lay lest the boys disturb some unknown ghost of Gryffindor that might take offense to their thievery, let alone the chance that someone else find them in possession of it and reveal their having broken in. Though a small part of it was also because they hoped that one day they might learn enough letters and words to finally return once more and read the books in full.

And it was in the study that Harry found Edwin today, seated in Gryffindor's worn and dusty leather backed chair and leaning over the desk like an old man who had fallen asleep while working late into the night. The curly-haired boy looked even more troubled than when Harry had first seen him that morning, and if he noticed Harry's arrival he didn't make it known.

Quietly, Harry took a seat across from him, noting how comfortable the cushions of the chair were, as well as the not insignificant amount of dust that exploded into the air at his sitting, which he briskly fanned away with his hands. He hoped there wasn't any sort of disease that had festered here and was now being inhaled by the two boys, though the mere thought of that seemed an insult to this place so he brushed it aside as quickly as he fanned the air.

Both boys sat in silence, the only light streaming in through the cracks in the shades drawn over the big windows that lined one wall of the study. Harry waited for his friend to stir from whatever troubled his thoughts. He didn't want to force him to speak before he was ready.

Then finally Edwin moved. His head swiveled around slowly so that his tired, manic brown eyes could look squarely into Harry's concerned emerald orbs.

"Sir Howell is dead, Harry," his friend's words fell heavy with the weight of an avalanche.

"W-What?!" Harry gasped, the blood slowly draining from his face. This was not good. Surely his friend was mistaken. This had to be some elaborate and yet terrible joke being played on him, and he laughed nervously. "Come now, Ed. This isn't-"

Edwin shook his head angrily and practically snarled, "He was _murdered_, Harry. By Langford!"

**=x=x=x=x=X****=x=x=x=x=**

**AN: **Let me know what you think of this chapter. It's shorter than I thought it would be, but I think the next one will be longer. I'm aiming for about 10k words per chapter on average. Btw, I'm wondering if I'm maybe going too fast with the plot, or maybe not fast enough? Ha! Onwards, friends!


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